


Victims of Circumstance - 13/20 - Surprises

by motsureru



Series: Victims of Circumstance [13]
Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-12
Updated: 2008-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-11 18:11:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motsureru/pseuds/motsureru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers for Season 1 and Season 2.  This is a <b><span>sequel</span> </b>to <i>Any Other Night</i>, which is a <b><span>sequel</span></b> to <i>Broken Glass. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Victims of Circumstance - 13/20 - Surprises

**Author's Note:**

> An enormous amount of thanks to [](http://etoile-dunord.livejournal.com/profile)[**etoile_dunord**](http://etoile-dunord.livejournal.com/), who edits my commas and makes me happy doing it.

**Teaser _:_** _Sylar stared at the box, head bowed and both hands grasping it tightly, though not too tight, letting his feet guide him down the street. All around him, the murmur of daily life, muted by the allure of the French tongue, flowed and passed through the air, insignificant at best._  

 

.13Surprises

 

Sylar stared at the box, head bowed and both hands grasping it tightly, though not too tight, letting his feet guide him down the street. All around him, the murmur of daily life, muted by the allure of the French tongue, flowed and passed through the air, insignificant at best. He passed it by, passed through that murmur, cupping the box carefully and catching his grip on its corners to keep it steady.

It wasn’t a fancy box; no ribbons, no gold sheen or sparkle. It was black, a matte finish to a crisp shape and size just a touch smaller than the palm of his hand. As Sylar crossed the blocks it took to return to the apartment, hardly noting those who passed him or vendors who hailed him, his thoughts dwelled as hard as his eyes did on the object, turned its meaning over and over again in his mind.

It was once the apartment building rose into his view that Sylar finally let the object fall away, grasped idly in the hand at his side. He dug his keys from his pocket and unlocked the door to the inside, the sounds of metal scraping metal distant to him. Was this a stupid idea? Childish? Womanly, even? Sylar kept telling himself it was none of these things. It was meaningful, it was personal, it was…

Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

Sylar sighed as he climbed the stairs and berated himself for his nervousness, for his indecision. His fingers itched, gripping the box a little tighter, and when he reached his floor, he was anxious to simply enter and toss the thing in a closet to forget about it. Sylar pushed the key into the lock and stepped inside with a bracing sigh. 

“I’m back,” he announced to an empty apartment. Silence met his words. Of course it did. Mohinder was probably not back yet. It had been two and a half days, and Sylar was beginning to worry. He told himself he had only to be patient, however, and all would be well.

Sylar slipped off his shoes and walked into the kitchen, putting the box down on the countertop. He stared at it. It mocked him, staring back with a neutral line between the bottom and lid that marked its indifference and potential. His own lips mirrored that expression, and he tapped his fingers lightly against the edge of the counter, contemplating. Maybe he’d put it right back in his pocket and take it back tomorrow.

The sound of keys jangling in the door interrupted him, and Sylar spun about abruptly, walking towards the door as it opened. Mohinder stepped inside just in time to nearly get floored by Sylar’s arms quickly stealing around him.

“I-”

“You’re home.” Sylar stopped him, holding the man tightly. “You’re okay,” he said softer, voice low and calm, in spite of the fear his embrace spoke of. Mohinder merely blinked at that, slowly smiling and wrapping his arms around Sylar in return.

“I am. I’m alright. Really.” Mohinder gave a soft chuckle and tried to pull back. “I might be mistaken… but I think you missed me.” The thought warmed him a little, but Mohinder teased no further as Sylar quickly released him, clearing his throat.

Sylar rubbed the back of his neck, stepping aside so Mohinder could pull his small suitcase inside. “It was almost three days… I thought something might have happened, and you couldn’t call…”

There was a sort of comfort Mohinder felt at that, at knowing there was someone to miss him. Once upon a time, only his mother would be one to even wonder where he was and if he was alright. “I know, I’m sorry. My flight had a long layover and it took longer than I thought.” Mohinder smiled and tugged his luggage in, tripping out of his shoes clumsily. “But you’ll never believe it, Sylar,” he began, setting down his suitcase and- “What is that?” –noticing the small box on the counter.

Panic set in, and Sylar stumbled over Mohinder’s shoe after him, reaching out a hand so that the box shot from the counter where Mohinder was reaching and into his outstretched hand. “It’s nothing!” he added, putting that hand behind his back.

Mohinder raised an eyebrow at that, glancing between Sylar’s face and his hip, leaning to the left side to peer around his figure. He stepped closer. “Nothing? Then… what are you doing using telekinesis?” he asked in a half-scolding tone.

Sylar’s pulse shot up in a way he hadn’t expected, and he found himself holding his breath. “Just putting something away. It’s personal.”

The odd look Mohinder gave him was as suspicious as it seemed slowly amused. Maybe if he weren’t so jetlagged the entire situation might not seem so silly. Maybe if it weren’t for the enormous embrace he had received upon arrival he might have gotten irritated at secrets and powers. But that was not the case, now. “Are you hiding something? Sylar?” Mohinder questioned, stepping forward and placing a hand on Sylar’s shoulder to push him aside as he peeked around towards the hidden hand.

Sylar was quick to reach his hand to trade the box into the other, holding it behind his other side. He cleared his throat, feeling the anxiety rise in his stomach. A warm color began to crawl slowly up his face. “It’s nothing, Mohinder. Why don’t you go unpack?”

A bewildered expression appeared on the darker man’s face, now. “What are you doing? What are you hiding, Sylar? You’re being ridiculous. I think we’re _personal_ enough for me to see whatever it is…” Mohinder ducked to the right side slyly, trying to reach back and grab at Sylar’s wrist. 

“No, stop!” Sylar warned curtly, and as Mohinder grabbed his first wrist he rotated it quickly and snatched Mohinder’s up in his free hand in return. That only resulted in the sharp dodge of Mohinder’s second hand, followed by a small grin on Mohinder’s part. Mohinder reached for the hand with the box but found his own abruptly captured too, pinned by Sylar’s free three fingers, the box held tightly between his forefinger and thumb. Now the streaks of color high across Sylar’s cheek bones were becoming in a healthy red. “Mohinder, knock it off! It’s really nothing! I- It’s stupid- just stop.”

Mohinder raised an eyebrow again at that. “Stupid? What is it?” Mohinder eyed the box, tilting his head a little this way and that, trying to get a look at it. “Why wouldn’t you want me to see it? Was it a gift for you? Is it a gift for me?” Mohinder smiled in amusement at the thought- it wasn’t a very likely one.

“…” –so Mohinder thought. But the furrow of Sylar’s eyebrows and the awkward look that raged across his features told otherwise.

Mohinder’s amusement slipped away, and he blinked. “Wh- is that what it is?”

“I told you: it’s stupid,” Sylar said begrudgingly, glaring over at the box suspended in the hair by their locked hands, as though he were angry at the item itself for embarrassing him. “Too stupid to give to you; it doesn’t even make any sense. Forget about it,” he insisted.

The corners of Mohinder’s lips curved upwards. He couldn’t help but admire those rare moments when a certain vulnerability entered Sylar’s mannerisms, that softness that spoke of humanity in the most transparent of ways. It was a face Sylar didn’t often wear, and when he did, it was clear he couldn’t help it. To Mohinder, those moments were some of the most endearing. “I bet it’s not stupid. But why buy me something? I haven’t done anything great, just abandon you for three days.” Mohinder lowered his left hand, and slowly Sylar let his grasp on Mohinder’s wrist free, keeping the other suspended and the box safe.

“I-” Sylar hesitated, hearing himself fumble over his words even in his head. “Well, it’s just- ...that is-” he cleared his throat a little, appearing more flustered with each movement of his lips. “There’s no reason. I… just wanted to give you something.” His shoulders seemed to shrink back a little, his entire being retreat into itself.

Mohinder simply blinked, staring, dumbfounded, at the taller man before him. It seemed almost… like something a normal lover would do. But they weren’t a normal couple, far from it, and Mohinder had never thought about special gifts or anything of the sort. It was simply a non-issue for them. 

Sylar shifted uncomfortably. “I know it’s dumb. And… I know I’m terrible at giving gifts, just like my mother. You don’t have to take it. I’ll just bring it back.” Sylar’s words came out in a nervous rush, a little jittery and unsure from start to finish.

But Mohinder merely smiled. He smiled that wide smile with a perfect row of white teeth and looked as he if he had to stop himself from laughing. “I… don’t think it’s stupid,” he said patiently.

Sylar cleared his throat again and gazed between the man before him and the box he still grasped. An awkward silence passed between them.

“…My arm’s falling asleep,” Mohinder pointed out finally, nodding to where Sylar held it suspended. 

“Oh.” He promptly dropped it and lowered the box between them. “Well…” Sylar reached up and rubbed the back of his neck with a hand, frowning at his own indecision. Finally, he thrust the little box towards Mohinder. “Take it then,” he stated.

Mohinder smiled and took the item slowly from Sylar’s hand. He held the box in his own palm for a second, looking over its plain but classic exterior, and then finally lifted the cover. Inside, against a scarlet piece of velvet, sat a pocket watch. It was not an old antique like the one Sylar had spoke of from his childhood, but a pristine piece, brand new, but with a classic feel. Mohinder stared at it with parted lips, and very carefully picked up the time piece, opening the cover.

Cased in gold, the watch’s numbers stood long and thin, passed over by hour, minute, and second hands that were cut with a delicate curvature not unlike the hands of an old grandfather clock. Though the face was a pale cream color, the very center of the piece had a window to the insides, showing how each shining gold piece clicked with its inner workings. On the inside of the cover _Mohinder Suresh_ was engraved in beautiful, elegant writing.

Mohinder turned to look at Sylar, feeling as speechless as he was. He closed the pocket watch, letting it fall back against the thin gold chain still in the box, and stared up into Sylar’s dark, worried eyes. “This is beautiful, Sylar… This…”

“I… wanted to put more than just your name inside,” Sylar began, words a little uneven. “But there was no… suitable name. Yours was best.” When he had considered what to put within, what to make immortal, Sylar found that neither ‘Gabriel Gray’ nor ‘Sylar’ were what he wanted Mohinder to remember forever. He wanted Mohinder to remember the man, not the name Sylar had placed upon him. Perhaps this time piece could do that, just as his father’s had done for him.

“It’s perfect,” Mohinder said softly, a warm sort of glow touching his features. “It’s… the most special thing anyone has ever given me.” 

A soft look passed between them, then, and Mohinder set the box down on the counter. He lifted his other hand to Sylar’s shirt, wrapping his fingers around dark fabric to pull it down. His lips sought out Sylar’s and took them easily, kissing sweetly and deeply, offering no hesitation. Sylar accepted the kiss readily, his heart feeling at ease, finally, that he had done something right by Mohinder; that he had let him know, for all his difficulties and awkward fumblings, how he felt.

Suddenly, Mohinder was pushing him back, and Sylar, though his hands found Mohinder’s hips, stumbled when the man slipped his fingers into Sylar’s black hair. Their lips were still locked as Mohinder began to guide him backwards down the hall. The destination was obvious, but as Mohinder’s kisses began to feel more hungry and careless, Sylar found it more difficult not to run into walls and doorways on their way.

Finally, the bed was reached, and Mohinder gave Sylar a bold shove until he fell back onto it, legs bent over the edge. His eyes widened a little at the confident expression forming on Mohinder’s face. Mohinder crawled forward on the bed and leaned over Sylar, words absent as he brought another forceful clash of their lips together. As Sylar lifted his hands to Mohinder’s sides to pull his shirt up, he felt the other man’s drag down his clothed chest and his belly, immediately settling on his belt. There was a pause in which they broke their kisses for their gazes to meet; Mohinder smirked, stare playful in a way Sylar rarely saw, and in an instant, Sylar felt every muscle in his body ache for the sexual creature this man could be.

Mohinder’s fingers were unzipping his pants roughly when suddenly the sound of the phone made him stop. Panting softly, the doctor sat up, pulling the device from his pocket. It rang again, and Mohinder looked down at the man beneath him. Sylar raised a dark eyebrow, and both his hands pulled down at Mohinder’s hips, making them grind together. A gruff moan from Mohinder was followed by a quick toss of the phone over his shoulder.

“It can wait,” Mohinder breathed out, leaning in to a deep kiss, hands tearing abruptly at Sylar’s buttoned shirt. Needless to say, Sylar was in full agreement.

 

“We could have just, you know, never picked up the phone at all. Ordered in some food and never left the bed,” Sylar was grumbling as Mohinder stepped through the door. He held the door for Sylar, and Sylar entered before him.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. If I weren’t just as excited about my news as Sebastian was about his, I’d have said it could wait. But just give me this? Indulge me?” Mohinder asked, voice pleading and a little smile on his face as he tossed that look over to Sylar from his side. “I promise once I’ve looked at whatever Sebastian wants, we’ll head right back home- and get some ice cream on the way.”

Sylar grunted a little and reached up, tugging a curl of Mohinder’s freshly showered and still wet hair as they walked down the hall and to the open door of his laboratory. It was after hours, now, getting later into the evening, and the building appeared to be, for the most part, empty. Sylar could only hear a few straggling scientists tapping away at their computers in the complex, and Sebastian Godard was one of them.

The man sat at his desk as the couple entered, and when they appeared, he seemed to absolutely jump from his seat. “Mohinder! You’re here- I have the most wonderful news. I just couldn’t wait- I tried to call and call-”

Mohinder smiled and nodded. “Yes, I’m very sorry, we were… occupied.” To say the least. “I have some incredible news for you as well; about our formula, no less.”

Sebastian rounded his messy desk, tripping for a moment over a book, and approached the men with a wide smile. “Our formula?! I’d love to hear it, you must tell me. But first my news: I-”

The phone began to ring, and all men looked towards Mohinder’s right pocket.

“Ah, excuse me…” Mohinder pulled his phone out to check it, but Sebastian continued.

“You don’t understand, Mohinder, I’ve discovered something incredible. It’s about Sanjog’s blood samples. They finally came in from Chennai’s mix-up. They’re downstairs in the blood lab.”

“What?” Mohinder looked up immediately. Weeks of their frustration had been caused by the lack of Sanjog’s blood samples, which the laboratory in Chennai had been consistently neglectful in sending them in a timely manner after the packaging mix-up. The phone began to ring again, and Mohinder looked down. The screen read **N.B.** in bold letters. Bennet? Or an incredible discovery?

Mohinder suddenly found that whatever Bennet might have to say would be able to wait; he wasn’t even in the same country, after all. He handed the phone over to Sylar. “Will you hold onto this while I run downstairs? We’ll be just a moment, I promise.”

Sylar eyed the two for a moment, but rather than voice any suspicions that might make Mohinder feel uncomfortable, Sylar gave in, this once. He nodded and took the phone, slipping it into his own pocket. “I’ll wait here while you two do your mad scientist thing.”

The smile on Mohinder’s face made it worth it, just for that instant, to let go. Mohinder nodded and gave Sylar a brief wave, followed by a ‘Come on,’ to Sebastian. The two exited the room practically at a jog.

Although Sylar had given himself, this time, to the idea that he should step back and allow Sebastian his leeway without snide commentary, Sylar had not given up his quest against the man entirely. In actuality, he had not given it up at all. As soon as Mohinder and Sebastian turned the corner, Sylar crossed the room and sat down in Sebastian’s chair. He stared for a moment at the man’s computer screen, eyes scanning the files on the desktop, and he smiled. Sylar would find out what this Sebastian had to offer the world after all.

 

 

“What is it you wanted to show me, Sebastian?” Mohinder asked as they hurried down the stairs. 

The blood lab lay waiting, its lights on but with no other scientist present. Sebastian pushed open the doors, words hardly keeping up with his excited breaths. “It’s incredible, Mohinder. It didn’t strike me until after I had looked at it for a little while; until after I thought about what we’d been doing with your files from New York all this time.” He pulled Mohinder over to the microscope he had waiting, a slide readied beneath. “Take a look at this- I don’t know how we missed it. Tell me what you see there,” he smiled.

Mohinder chuckled at his enthusiasm, moving over to the microscope. “Have we been incredibly blind to something, Sebastian?” Mohinder leaned down and adjusted the sight. As he stared down into the sample, the finding hit Mohinder in a sudden burst of realization. “My god…” The implications of this discovery were more than Sebastian could rightly imagine. 

Mohinder leaned up, but as he did he heard a sudden smack and thud; he looked up just in time to see Sebastian’s eyes roll back and his body slide with a heavy sound to the floor. Twisting around, Mohinder heard the sound again, but this time his own eyes were the ones to slide up, and the world fell into black around him before his body crumpled to the floor.

   
  



End file.
